


Feels Like the First

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [35]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Like Really in Love, Neck Kissing, Romantic Fluff, Rosie Knows, Sherlock in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12407610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: Molly dreads reuniting with her ex Uni partner. That is until Sherlock offers his assistance.





	Feels Like the First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thejonderettegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thejonderettegirl).



> big ol' cheesy yuckfest...that I'm not sure makes sense now I think about it. but fuck it. thanks to @thejonderettegirl over on tumblr for prompting numer seven: fake relationship au. hope you like it :)

It started with flowers and chocolates, sent anonymously to her workplace; bouquets piled high with her favourite flowers from daisies to hibiscus and the finest Belgian chocolate. There may have been no distinctive indication as to the sender but Molly was no fool. This was why, when Scotland Yard’s finest arrived that morning, she was huddled over a microscope, running all sorts of tests on a halved chocolate truffle.

“Everything alright, Molly?”

The pathologist turned to the Detective Inspector, a wild look in her eyes, “Greg, thank God. Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Could you run a check for me?”

Sherlock and John, who’d taken up position at the consulting detective’s preferred microscope, paused to listen as Greg took out a notebook.

“Yeah, sure, what’s their name?”

“Pete Truman. He…was arrested six years ago and was serving time for assault in Leicester. I just...I want to know if he’s out yet,” the way she was wringing her hands had Greg biting his lip, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“I’ll run him through the system,” he said before leaving the lab, his phone pressed to his ear as he spoke to his colleagues.

An awkward silence descended on the room. Molly turned back to her results, finding the chocolates clean; she wasn’t surprised if she was honest. Paranoia. John was the first to address the elephant in the room.

“Er, an ex, Molly?”

After a moment, Molly took a deep breath and faced her friends – it was for the best that she explained, they’d only worry. That, or Pete’s mangled corpse would end up on her morgue slab if she’d kept the information to herself. Who knew when it came to them two.

“He was my lab partner in Uni. I thought he was my friend but…that wasn’t how he saw things. When I told him I was moving to London for work, he was hell bent on following me,” as Molly explained, she recalled her relationship with Pete – how overly sweet he was, how reluctant he was to let her out of his sight. Towards the end, he’d virtually become her shadow. She continued, “I told him he’d misunderstood and he turned nasty. He got drunk, trashed my flat and got into a pretty vicious bar fight. After he got sent down, he promised he’d find me and ‘make things right’. I haven’t seen him in years but if he’s the same person…he’d never have forgotten. He was never violent to me,” she hastened to add at the look on their faces; the morgue slab ending was looking more likely the more she spoke. She ran a hand through her hair, “I can’t go through all that again. What am I going to tell him?”

“Tell him to sod off,” John nearly shouted, gesturing angrily, “you don’t owe him anything.”

Molly shrugged, “I’ve tried. He’s not the sort of man you say no to.”

“Tell him you have a boyfriend.”

* * *

 

Both Molly and John swivelled to stare in surprise at Sherlock; the two of them had almost forgotten he was there. He was huddled over his microscope, working on his latest case – Molly had simply assumed her tedious problems were beneath him.

Shooting a confused glance at the army doctor, Molly answered, “I’ve tried. He never believes me.”

Silence fell once again, the detective apparently delving into his mind palace. John and Molly shared another glance, the former shrugging briefly. Minutes passed until, finally, Sherlock opened his eyes and rummaged in his pocket, retrieving his phone.

“Angelo’s. Tonight, eight. Can you manage that?”

“Erm…” Molly blinked, taken aback by the sudden change of direction the conversation had taken, “why? What do you mean?”

Suddenly, he was on his feet and at her side, smiling almost triumphantly at her, “well…” in a matter of seconds, Sherlock had cupped her neck and leaned down to kiss her tenderly, capturing the moment on his phone with his free hand. Swallowing hard, Molly opened her eyes to find Sherlock smirking at her, “you have a boyfriend.”

He swept away, leaving her gobsmacked…not that she was complaining. Not at all. John, however, took slightly longer to recover; he quickly closed his mouth and awkwardly shuffled after his friend, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

* * *

 

Molly couldn’t stop staring at the Twitter post Sherlock had made after the bizarre snogging incident at Bart’s. The image – on his account under the handle @consulting_detectiveSH – was accompanied with the simple caption ‘ _smitten’_ followed by an emoji of a heart. He’d even tagged her, @barts_mhooper, and added the affectionate hashtags _bestsnog_ and _workbreak_. Smiling, Molly placed her phone in her bag and looked around the restaurant – happy diners milled about, chatting and enjoying their meals. Angelo’s staff flitted between tables, filling orders and conversing with customers.

Molly glanced at the door nervously, taking a swig of her glass of wine; she’d arrived early, having rushed home after her shift, changed into a simple red dress and hurried out. Sherlock was yet to arrive, or Pete for that matter, and she just hoped the former would make it before the latter. Thankfully, five minutes later, the detective strolled inside, with Rosie Watson balancing on his hip.

“Sorry I’m late,” he was saying, placing Rosie opposite her Aunt; the youngster looked pleased to see her, if a little tired. Molly was about to greet him in return when the coat came off; it was tremendously unfair that Sherlock Holmes managed to look mouth-watering at every opportunity. He sat close to her, close enough to rumble into her ear, “any sign?”

Molly swallowed, finding it immensely difficult to concentrate, “n-not yet.”

Rosie, who’d been contentedly sucking her thumb, pulled a menu closer and perused the options; it didn’t matter that she couldn’t understand the writings, Angelo had her usual order of bitesize spaghetti bolognese memorised. Molly was busy watching the windows, studying passing taxis for the familiar blond hair and- and…

“Sherlock…” Molly sighed breathlessly, her vision going blurry as Sherlock continued to suck at her neck in the most heavenly way, only humming his acknowledgement into her skin. She forced herself to focus, “w-what are you doing?”

He mumbled something about keeping up appearances or having to make things look genuine, Molly didn’t really care. She just didn’t want him to stop. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew it might help if their intended target was on the receiving end of the spectacle. It didn’t take much for that thought to disappear for good, Sherlock nipping at the spot below her ear to be exact. It took all of Molly’s willpower not to moan, or slide her hand up any higher from wear it was resting on his knee.

Not even the clearing throat of Angelo’s head waiter was enough to stop the detective’s actions, “would you like to…order anything Mr. Holmes?”

“S’getti!” Rosie exclaimed delightedly, giggling as the waiter winked and made a gesture of disgust at the nauseating display of her aunt and uncle.

“I-I think you’ve made your point,” Molly replied in a voice that definitely didn’t sound like her own. Rosie was watching them curiously, sipping from her glass of orange juice the waiter had delivered. Sherlock finally removed his lips from her skin, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to stop?”

_NO!_

“I have work tomorrow,” she said lamely, her hand still firmly in place on his knee; Sherlock merely chuckled and resumed his previous ministrations as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

They were interrupted yet again not ten minutes later by the arrival of Pete, a tall, skinny, balding ex-con, a far cry from the long-haired blond student Molly knew in Uni. The woman on his arm was shorter with should-length red hair, her eyebrows raised as she viewed the performance Sherlock was reluctant to cease. He had no choice when Molly stood to hug her uncomfortable looking former friend.

“It’s good to see you, Molly,” Pete smiled genuinely, holding her hands gently between his own. He looked well and not at all what Molly had been expecting at all. He glanced at the neck-sucker and the bored child, smiling, “…looks like we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

They took their seats opposite, forcing Rosie to shuffle round and hide shyly behind the elbow of her uncle. Pete introduced the woman as his fiancée, Martha Kirk; they’d met through the prison’s pen pal system and struck up a relationship almost immediately. Relieved didn’t begin to describe how Molly felt.

“I’m so happy for you, Pete.”

The man smiled at his lady, intertwining their hands before looking back at his former crush, “so, come on, what about you and your…” he briefly glanced at the neck-sucker, who appeared in deep thought, “husband? Newlyweds if I ever saw it.”

Molly bit her lip, preparing to come clean, “well, not exactly…”

“Three years strong, actually,” Sherlock piped up, linking fingers with Molly, meeting her gaze and brushing away a strand of hair for good measure. He kissed her knuckles, adding softly, “everyday feels like the first with Molly.”

Molly was sure her eyes were as wide as saucers when Sherlock had pressed his lips to her hand, but his final words had rendered her completely speechless. There was something about him that told her he meant it. Before she could properly function and tell him she felt the same, Martha reached over patting their still joined hands.

“Never lose that, love. It’s so rare.”

Sherlock caught Rosie’s eye and noticed the youngster smirking at him as if she’d just won a bet; knowing her father, she probably had. At that moment, holding Molly’s hand as the waiter took their orders, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

* * *

 

“We didn’t have to lie to them,” Molly was saying as they strolled down the street, clutching Sherlock’s coat tighter around her shoulders. Sherlock said nothing, balancing his sleeping niece against his chest. Molly breathed in his scent, smiling to herself, “he’s getting married, right? It’s pretty clear he’s not interested in me in the slightest.”

“Mmm,” was the only thing he said and Molly vowed to drop the subject until they’d reached Baker Street.

She was determined not to leave without answers. They’d had a surprisingly pleasant evening, swapping stories with Pete and Martha, laughing and drinking like old friends. The thought and effort Sherlock had put into each little detail of their supposedly fake relationship was far too detailed for her to simply forget about. He’d covered everything from his crime scene proposal, private wedding and even the birth of their not-daughter, Rosie, who was thankfully fast asleep against her uncle’s arm by then. When they’d reached Baker Street and handed Rosie back to her long-suffering father, Molly accepted Sherlock’s offer of a nightcap. Once safely inside, she decided to have it out with him.

“Are you going to tell me what all that was really about?”

He stepped closer, removing the glass of wine from her grasp, replacing them on the coffee table, “I think you know perfectly well, don’t you?”

“Every day feels like the first…” she repeated breathlessly as he tugged her close, resting his forehead against hers.

“Always.”


End file.
